YJ Nightwing x OC | Slow Burn | Enemies to Lovers |
- Book One
Once, they were teammates.
Now, they're a storm waiting to happen.
She's gone. He's still here.
Years later, she's a lone operator with blood on her hands and secrets in her veins. He...
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Not thinking twice, I rush toward what has to be the main computer core and jack in.
First priority: alarms.
My fingers fly across the keys, muscle memory taking over as lines of encrypted code spill down the screen. I kill the perimeter alerts first, then the internal fail-safes, praying I'm not already too late—that someone hasn't tripped a silent trigger somewhere deep in the compound.
Firewalls collapse one after another.
Easy.
Too easy.
Data floods my screen in an endless torrent—coordinates, names, contingency plans, sleeper cells buried in governments that pretend they don't exist. Missile trajectories. Political assassinations. Revolutions waiting for a single command.
I forget to breathe.
Screw the missile codes. This—this—is everything.
Every scheme Ra's al Ghul ever whispered into the dark, every calculated move meant to tear the world apart piece by piece, sitting right here at my fingertips.
Sweet, brutal revenge.
This isn't where I was trained, but the rush is the same. Knowing that everything he poured himself into is about to rot from the inside out. Knowing I'm the one doing it.
I love it more than I should.
"Think you could hurry it up a bit?" Nightwing's voice comes from the doorway, low and sharp. He doesn't step inside—he's watching the hall, body angled protectively even as he pretends he isn't. "We're on a clock."
I bristle instantly.
"Relax, hon," I mutter, not looking at him. "This isn't WayneTech. The Shadows don't believe in convenience."
I catch the faintest pause behind me.
Curiosity.
I smirk despite myself and dig deeper, bypassing the final lock. The system opens like a vein.
"There," I say, yanking the thumb drive free. "Got everything."
"Good. Now wipe it."
"Okay, okay—" I snap, fingers already moving. I purge the servers, corrupt the backups, salt the earth for good measure. When it's done, I pocket the drive and turn. "Let's move, Blue."
He exhales like he's been holding it in.
Outside, chaos is already unfolding.
Kaldur and Conner are locked in combat with half a dozen Shadows, efficient and brutal. They don't need us. We pivot instead, heading toward where Wally and M'gann are holding the line. Arrows streak past us—clean, precise shots that drop assassins mid-stride.
It doesn't take long.
When the dust settles, bodies litter the stone—alive, groaning, but down. The four of us stand in the center of it all, panting, blood splattered across armor and skin. Not mine. Theirs.
